


Love like Smoke, Nicotine for my Soul

by harrytomlinsun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:26:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrytomlinsun/pseuds/harrytomlinsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes meet Harry’s in the dark, and he realizes just how incredibly close they are, so close that he could kiss Harry if he wanted. And he does want, but he fears that Harry will taste the smoke on his lips and decide that the flavour just isn’t for him. </p><p>Or Louis meets Harry, he falls in love then falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love like Smoke, Nicotine for my Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [1DOscarWildeFicathon.](http://1doscarwildeficathon.tumblr.com/) Quotes belong to Mister Oscar Wilde himself.  
> Special thanks to my [beta](http://but-then-you-say-my-name.tumblr.com/), yet all mistakes are my own.
> 
> All feedback is HIGHLY appreciated.
> 
>  **WARNINGS** : Mentions of depression and suicide.

_“If you are not too long, I will wait for you all my life.”_

Louis feels the stars dancing above his head; he feels the darkness of the night licking his skin and the smoke burning on his lungs.

He is sitting on his roof. The party that he is supposedly hosting is at full swing downstairs, the walls vibrating with music so loud he’s sure it can be heard miles away. He takes a grip of the edge, lifting his other hand to take another drag of the cigarette pressed between his fingers. Head lulled back, he releases the smoke in a breath, blinking lazily at the shapes it makes before melting into the black sky.

He wonders what would happen if he let go off the edge. He would probably float up to the sky, the smoke carrying him away with it.

Below him, guests are stumbling around the green grass, so heavy with alcohol that they never manage to look up. Louis wonders what that would feel like – to be so grounded that you don’t have to worry about gripping the edge tight enough.

He looks down, letting his legs swing through the air as his finger flex against the ledge, because no amount of alcohol will ever be enough to ground him. Everything looks a little blurry around the edges, figures moving too fast, laughter that can’t be heard and words that won’t be remembered. Still, he manages to pick out the silhouette of a boy that looks up and stares directly at him. And he feels oddly exposed with the cracks on his skin at full display; the heavy gaze settled on him is making the smoke escape through them.

If he were to let go off the edge now he wouldn’t make it to the sky. He would come crashing to the ground and paint the grass red.

Louis thinks that it would look nice. Red splattered against the white walls as it drippes onto the grass – he wonders if his parents would like that, if they would call it art. But before the smoke clears entirely the guy is being dragged away, becoming another hazy figure before it disappears.

He stays there and waits but nobody looks up. The smoke starts to fill him again.

_“Acting feels so much more real than life.”_

Louis loves to perform. He loves the way he feels settled on stage, his skin illuminated by the bright lights and the loud applause ringing in his head after well delivered lines. No matter what the play is, you will find him first in line, eager for another character to understand. To fill. To become.

He constantly gets praises on his acting skills, especially from novices that want to know his secrets, ‘ _natural talent’_ he claims with an easy smile and shrug of his shoulders. They could never understand that he is his best self when he is someone else.

School is Louis’ everyday stage. It’s there where he should be getting the acting praises.

He crosses the doors and people greet him in immediately, some pats on the back and flirty smiles from girls and boys alike. His character here is someone who is not filled with smoke.

Louis walks down the hall until he reaches his locker, back resting on it without much care about hurrying to first period. It would shock nobody if he decided to skip because apparently his character is also a douche.

The doors are thrown open, and his eyes drift lazily in their direction. Black skinny jeans, a white thin t-shirt and a green beanie over a head of curls make their way down the hall.

The boy moves easily between the people, seeming to not notice the curious eyes that are fixed on his every step. He walks past Louis and for half a second their eyes meet, time enough for him to pick on the green hue of the stranger’s eyes. Flashes of grass painted red flitted across his mind. They are gone as fast as they come along with the boy that keeps on his way.

*

Niall Horan is filled with helium and sunshine as bright as the fake blond colour of his hair.

They are sitting behind the bleachers, first period not looking that appealing after all. He found Zayn at their usual spot, waiting for him, a cigarette between his lips and a sketch book resting on his lap. In front of them is Niall, who was kicked out of class for singing traditional Irish songs _again_ – or at least, that is what Louis think happened. Niall hasn’t stop laughing to tell them properly.

The bell rings and Niall’s laughter finally starts to die out, looking red as a tomato under the September sun. Louis rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder as they wait for Niall to catch his breath, amused smiles playing on their lips.

“You alright there, mate?” A voice comes from behind, making Louis yelp with surprise before he quickly covers it with a clearing of his throat.

Zayn chuckles next to him, and Louis pinches his leg as he turns to look at the intruder. He can’t help but stare.

“Sorry,” the boy says, but there is a glint in his eyes that doesn’t match the apologetic words. “I, uh, just wanted to bring Niall the notes he missed.”

Niall grins and gives the curly headed teen a kiss on the cheek and a thanks. “Harry is new,” he announces, “Moved next door. I brought him to your party, Lou, but we couldn’t find you.”

Louis blinks slowly and nods at Niall in acknowledgement. Harry has deep dimples in his cheeks and a nose too big for his face, his laugh is loud and abrupt, and Louis has only a minute in his presence and he already wants to know what he is filled of.

_“Illusion is the first of all pleasures”_

Louis wonders if he is imagining the intensity of Harry’s gaze whenever he happens to catch the boy looking at him. If those endless nights of imagining cherry lips against his, mumbling words that he can never recall, have started getting to him.

He wonders what would happen if he acted on it. If he didn’t always try to avoid direct interaction with Harry, which was hard when the boy seemed to be everywhere. Always attached to Niall, and even getting on with Zayn more than well. But Louis is uneasy and seeking support whenever in his presence, he doesn’t like the way Harry seems to pick out the cracks of his skin.

“Lou” Zayn says, bringing Louis eyes to his friend’s face “I want you to look at this” He passes Louis his sketch pad then. A small smile playing at the corner of his lips, one of those soft, genuine ones only meant for them. He smiles back and takes the book carefully.

He looks at it for a moment, tracing his fingers slowly over the lines of the drawing, the deep cracks in the unknown silhouette, so delicate and beautiful and _sad._

“What do you think?” Zayn asks, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder and exhaling softly.

“I don’t know what the hell this is” Louis answers sincerely, eyes still fixed on the patterns. “But it’s beautiful, Z.”

Zayn smiles clearly pleased with the answer, and covers Louis hand with his own as he moves their fingers up and down the drawing. “It’s you, Lou.”

Louis frowns, turning to look at Zayn who still has that soft look in his eyes, the one that spells care and love, and Louis doesn’t know what to do with any of it. He is saved from having to come up with a reply when Niall starts clapping his hands loudly, demanding their full attention and dragging Zayn to their next class, refusing to suffer through the torture of English by himself.

“Pretentious pricks, can’t describe a fuckin’ trashcan without comparing it to emeralds or some shit…” Louis’ hears as they move away, and wonders for the hundredth time, why he keeps taking that class.

Someone clears their throat, causing him to look up. Now if Louis was one of the pretentious pricks Niall was just complaining about, he would definitely say that the eyes in front of him very well resemble the colour of emeralds.

“Feel like skipping with me?” Harry asks, and Louis arches a brow. “I’m feeling a bit mischievous, think you’d make a good partner in crime.”

Louis would love to laugh at the ridiculous way that Harry is wiggling his eyebrows in front of him. He really, really would – but Harry is right there, so close that Louis wonders if he can feel the smoke seeping from his lungs. Harry licks his lips and Louis imagines licking them himself and suddenly his chest tightens.

He nods, if only for Harry to give him space. Harry doesn’t move away but a big smile stretches onto his face and just like that Harry becomes this hurricane that takes Louis’ life by storms.

_“The advantage of emotions is that they lead us astray.”_

Louis is always cold. He has to wear two jackets when winter is close, and because he still refuses to wear socks he used to spend the nights with his feet tucked under the covers on his bed.

That is not an option anymore. Not since he nodded at Harry that day, and let himself be taken on an adventure that ended in them running until their lungs burned, away from a very disgruntled guard after breaking into the planetarium.

They decided then, that fake stars just weren’t for them and have started to spend endless night sitting on the roof, gazing at the real ones. Louis is very familiar with the scene but having Harry there next to him makes every night seem like a new sky.

 It could also be because it never happens to be any of their roofs.

Louis jumps the fence and suddenly doesn’t know what character he is playing anymore. All he knows is that Harry’s hand is warm in his and that they really need to run faster before that old man calls the police. Louis is not ready for a prison cell to become his next stage.

Harry tugs his arm and presses him against a wall, their bodies hiding in the shadows untouched by the light of the streetlamps. He hears the distant sound of a police car and giggles when it passes right by them.

“Shh, they could still hear us.” Harry scolds, but he is suppressing a laugh too. A shiver runs down Louis’ spine and he could blame it on the cold but that’s a lie when all he feels is the warmth of Harry’s body pressed against his.

And it should be wrong. That Louis is always tanned yet always feels cold, and Harry, who is as pale as the moon, feels as warm as the sun.

His eyes meet Harry’s in the dark, and he realizes just how incredibly close they are, so close that he could kiss Harry if he wanted. And he does want, but he fears that Harry will taste the smoke on his lips and decide that the flavour just isn’t for him.

Harry kisses him anyway.

*

Louis decides that Harry is filled with sun rays, and that is why he always feels so warm. That is why when their mouths meet, he can feel a hot rush spike in his veins that makes the smoke disappear and the cracks on his skin heal.

Harry is hot like a volcano and Louis forgets what it is like to be cold.

_“True friends stab you in the front”_

Louis is sitting in his room, head rested on Zayn’s lap and the air heavy with smoke. Zayn tells him about this new piece he is working on, and Louis tells him about Harry and the taste he leaves on his tongue.

Zayn looks at Louis under long unblinking lashes, framing worried eyes. Louis squirms uncomfortably under the gaze.

“What” He asks voice slurred and deep.

Zayn takes another long drag and Louis watches the hollow form of his cheeks and wonders, not for the first time, if Zayn knows just how beautiful he is. He feels like he should. “You’re very beautiful, mate.”

Zayn smiles down at him but it is not enough to make the worry disappear. The weed is starting to make Louis feel sleepy but he fights it away, he intends to listen to whatever has his friend so worried. He sights for Zayn’s hand blindly, giving it a reassuring squeeze when he finds it. This time the smile does reach his eyes.

“You know I like Harry, right?” Zayn says finally, after he has taken another drag, and Louis’ face immediately scrunches up. He adds a pout to his frown when Zayn rolls his eyes at him, “Not like that, you moron.”

Louis feels his expression soften a little, waiting for Zayn to elaborate. “I think he’s a very nice lad, chilled, polite. And I know your eyes brighten when you talk about him.” Zayn lets the smoke drifts into the air. “But that’s it.”

Louis’ frown is back in place, not being able to understand a word Zayn is saying. It is probably the weed.

“What I’m trying to say here, Lou, is that I love seeing you this into someone but maybe you should get to know him a little bit more.”

Louis stares unblinkingly at Zayn, fighting the heaviness of his eyelids, “Alright.” He mumbles quietly and closes his eyes when the room starts to spin.

The last thing he hears is Zayn sighing softly. “Make sure he handles you with care.”

*

 _‘Whats your favourite colour?’_ Louis hesitates over the send button, before he deems it good enough to send. As usual, Zayn is right, he doesn’t know much about Harry either.

The reply is almost immediate _._

_‘Blue. Like the sky.’_

_Like your eyes._ Louis’ mind supplies uselessly before he pushes the thought away.

‘ _Yours?’_

A smile breaks on his lips at the message. Maybe Harry wants to know about him too. He starts tapping and reminds himself that sharing colours preferences doesn’t mean anything unless you’re in kindergarten.

But the butterflies on his stomach refuse to listen.

_“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”_

Just like that it becomes a routine. Late Sunday nights spent on a strangers’ roof just the two of them and the stars, and texts messages scattered all across the day with pieces of themselves.

Most of the time they text little facts. Pieces of information that most would find stupid or unimportant,  but Louis treasures every piece of Harry close to his heart. He hopes Harry does the same.

 _‘I kissed a boy before I ever kissed a girl’_ Harry has sent.

Louis snorts and throws his bag to some corner of his room, ignoring the calls of his mother in order to type a quick reply. _‘a boy named liam was the first to break my heart’_

Harry takes his time to reply and by the time he does Louis has already finished his homework, been chastised by his parents and taken a hot shower.

 _‘My father used to beat me and my sister. We had to run away’_ Louis stares at his phone screen with wide shocked eyes, his fingers tremble when he types, _‘sometimes I daydream about letting go of the edge’_

An upcoming message reads _‘we have to move out again’_ Louis saves his text as a draft and hits ‘call’ instead.

“Hey” Harry says when he picks up the call after the second ring.

“Hi” is Louis’ reply. He can barely hear it over the buzzing on his head, “That’s some serious shit there.”

Harry chokes out a breathy laugh and Louis saves the sound between his ribcage.

“I will be there in ten.” Louis announces after a short exchange of their breaths, he waits until he hears Harry’s mumbled ‘okay’ to hang up and hurry out of the house.

He stays with Harry that night. Anne doesn’t ask questions and Louis ignores his own mother’s calls. He holds Harry the whole night, a hand splayed over Harry’s chest, pretending that with every little shake of Harry, the cracks aren’t ripped open again.

He is afraid to ask how many nights they have left.

*

It was none.

_“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Some people exist, that is all.”_

Louis gets an envelope. The name of the university of his dreams written in cursive across its front. He reads it under the scrutinising gaze of his parents. **_Accepted_** it reads. Louis whispers the words and almost misses his father’s annoyed huff.

“You should study finances, kid. Not this drama nonsense.” He hears him say, and for the first time he doesn’t put on a fight, doesn’t talk about his passion or owning his life. He just put the letter carefully on the table, the font inked into his brain and thinks _I don’t care._

He is almost as shocked with his own mind, as his father is with his lack of reply. He registers his expression morph into one of satisfaction, thinking he has finally won and Louis’ mind once again echoes _I don’t care._ The words ring true.

*

Zayn finishes his final piece and it is bought by the local museum to décor a small new section. Louis gets the news late at night, and it is the first time in what seems like forever that the corners of his lips tug into a smile.

The inauguration is very formal, and even though Zayn is the artist, he only gets one invitation. He takes Louis of course. When he first sees the finished masterpiece his breath gets caught in his throat and he remembers that afternoon, with Zayn’s hand on his tracing the line of the unknown that has now taken form in shades of blue and green and red.

He runs out of there and ends up in the planetarium, learning then that his cracks are never healing because his missing pieces moved away with _him_.

_“For he who lives more lives than one: More deaths than one must die.”_

Zayn finally snaps exactly one week after that. His claims are that he can’t keep watching his best friend lose himself, but then again Zayn says a lot of things. It isn't until he breaks down crying that Louis feels his heart breaking all over again.

Niall says that what he needs is a party and Zayn is reluctant at first until Louis fakes excitement, just to get the weight of worry off his friend’s backs.

But even faking has become too much and Louis has to escape half an hour later with a bottle of booze. He doesn’t go to the roof this time, just lays ungracefully on the grass.

The music is loud and Louis can’t hear his own thoughts, can’t hear broken promises and praises that once made him feel warm. He takes a deep breath, looking at the sky. The stars haven’t change even though somehow Louis has expected them to.

They look too far away, he decides after a blink, and with numbing muscles, he stumbles through the house to the roof.

Louis feels the stars dancing above his head; he feels the darkness of the night licking his skin and the smoke leaving his lungs.

He is sitting on his roof. The party that he is supposedly hosting is at full swing downstairs. He gets a grip of the edge and lifts his phone with his right hand, the fuzz on his head makes it hard to focus on the screen until his eyes finally adjust and he is capable of making the figures on it.

He searches for the chat that he hasn’t been capable to erase, a draft saved and forgotten under the last time they talked.

_‘sometimes I daydream about letting go of the edge’_

Louis presses ‘send’ and does just that.

He doesn’t fly up the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ironlouie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
